Patterns
by verfens
Summary: Alfred Jones is a pilot in the Space force, and he's an amazing flier. It'd be helpful if he could figure out who is killing him. DON'T DRINK THE KOOLAID. Future USUK. Gore, character death


Patterns

Summary: Alfred Jones is a pilot in the Space force, and he's an amazing flier. It'd be helpful if he could figure out who is killing him. DON'T DRINK THE KOOLAID.

* * *

When Alfred woke up, the first thing he thought was, "Not again." He was in a hospital room, attached to the IV. His memories of the last weeks were foggy- he had been readjusted well, and now was ready to get back to work. As he looked around, he saw his fellow dead among him, some in the stages of readjustment around him. Phil was walking on a treadmill. Joseph was sleeping beside him.

They were all dead at many points in time.

But they were alive again due to technology.

Someone had murdered him, just as they had done for over ten years, stalling his movement through the ranks. And he was left with the taunting note on the table beside him, "DON'T DRINK THE KOOLAID", written in his past selves blood. He knew it was a reference to the Jonestown incident, but how did it correlate to him? Other than the shared name, "Jones", he didn't have any connection to the people's temple. Not even religion wise.

So what did it mean?

He got up onto shaky legs, and started pacing around the room, looking for his briefcase to check on what he had learned about the case from before he had died.

Alfred to see the dead man walking. "I thought it was something you could fix with drills. But t

* * *

He was welcomed back with an air of gloom. "Who's gone this time?" He asked, wondering which one of them had jumped this time.

"Our Commander," Phil said, shaking his head. "Or so I heard. We're getting a new one."

Alfred shook his head. "Never thought he could jump. So what's the new guy like? Going to enjoy the cursed team?" He joked, smiling morbidly as the team lined up. A man walked into the room, he was shorter than Alfred by only a few inches, and his eyebrows were ridiculous. However, he commanded a certain air of respect around him. They came to attention.

"Listen up you pieces of shit, you are the one team that has died more times than any other team. I am here to get you back into shape, and figure out how you've managed to die so many times. If it's murder, then I'll figure out who has done it. My name is Commander Kirkland. Address me only as that. Will the soldier known as Jones come with me, now." Alfred stepped forward, sighing internally, but outwardly remaining neutral. "I've been told you have all the information regarding the case."

"Yes sir. I'm always the first to die, sir." Alfred said, simply, standing straight for him. Commander Kirkland was rather cute.

Kirkland took Alfred out of the room, and Alfred grabbed his briefcase, handing it to Arthur. "This is everything I have about the case. Feel free to look through it, if you need clarification come to me." After he handed over the key, Alfred was dismissed.

* * *

Alfred was getting ready for the night watch when Commander Kirkland called him back into be seen once more. His face was a lot paler, and several of Alfred's files were thrown askew around the room. Alfred wasn't surprised by this. "Are you alright, sir?" He asked, respectfully.

"You realize that this is murder, correct? Homicide? I was just told you died a lot." He looked over to his…this is far beyond it."

Alfred smiled. "Welcome to the cursed team, 740. I hope you don't end up like our last commander."

They were heading to the spaceship tomorrow. It was there it had all begun.

* * *

The time between getting on was uneventful. That night, he was on the watch. It would suck, but he had a secret weapon- A camera. He would take a picture of the culprit before he died again. That was how they had to play this game with him.

He only hoped it would work.

Alfred was sure he could catch him this time.

* * *

That night, he went to dinner unsuspecting. He was just going to eat, after all. The guys were how they always were. Their team was looked down upon with pity and even fear. While they were the "Cult dead", people outside their team often died after they did. It was astonishing how many people they had lost. You are only reborn in combat when your body is found. Those who died after Alfred and his team jumped out into space. And it takes months to be reborn. So, Alfred had lost track of how long he had served in the military. But, it was fine with him. It wasn't like there was anything left in his home.

Dinner was uneventful, other than the usual chatter about how they had died this go around. Apparently there had been a fight, and three people were gone. It wasn't surprising, honestly. They had gotten so close to catching him before. So Alfred had to keep on thinking that they had to be getting closer to catching him. He had polite conversation about the new commander, how he was kinda cute. Every one took Alfred with a joke, since Arthur Kirkland was about as emotional as a robot to them. Alfred was assuring them that he could get his act to melt.

But it was what went down after dinner that was what got him. He was caught in the hallway by a man, and he gasped at the sight. He knew who the killer was he knew it!

And he was stabbed in the chest, and he gasped at the wound. He started running back to his room, a blood trail forming as his killer walked slowly behind him, grinning smugly. Alfred shakily turned around, and took his photo, before writing on the back who the killer was. He could do this. He slammed his door shut, and fumbled with the lock.

He didn't make it.

* * *

That night, Airman Jones went missing. It was a new record for how fast it happened, and Commander Kirkland was frantic looking for him in a team full of people who were assured he was dead. But that couldn't be- he had spoken to him only hours before.

Arthur Kirkland was very, very human when he opened the door to Alfred's murder, and discovered the gruesome scene, with Alfred's entrails out of his body. They were arranged to say, "I THINK COMMANDER KIRKLAND'S KINDA CUTE". Whoever had killed him, had known who would find him, and had time to prepare it for him.

The camera was smashed, the photo was ripped to shreds and soaked in Alfred's blood. On the bedside table was the usual note: DON'T DRINK THE KOOLAID.

And Arthur Kirkland knew that he had no chance in hell doing this alone.

* * *

Alfred Jones woke up nearly a year later. The first thing he thought was, not again, and he sat up in the same old hospital room, for the 14th time.

* * *

A/N: I hope you like this, it gets creepier as it goes on, I hope.


End file.
